


Grazing

by klarolineagainnaturally



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV), The Vampire Diaries - L. J. Smith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Kinda, Klaroline, Romance, affair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26009752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klarolineagainnaturally/pseuds/klarolineagainnaturally
Summary: Request: "Canon Divergent- Caroline and Klaus start an affair after finding out Tyler’s cheating, and this leads to a series of event that favor this beautiful OTP"
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson
Comments: 164
Kudos: 365





	1. I

She knows her friends would be judging her if they knew this was her fourth glass. She couldn’t bear to tell anyone; she even made sure to come to The Grill on Matt’s off-shift hours. She wanted to save herself the humiliation and the pitiful ‘oh _Caroline_ ’s that would see her passed around her friends like some sad little doll. When Klaus slides onto the stool beside her, she barely bats an eyelash.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks softly enough that it makes her heart ache. 

She realises that she’s never _really_ heard the words ‘are you okay?’ without some judgement or pity laced in between the syllables but Klaus asks it with complete and utter concern. It’s a funny realisation and if she wasn’t so drunk, she might think to laugh at the question but she just tilts her head lazily and quirks up the corners of her lips.

“You know the saying ‘life imitates art?” She pauses, thoughtfully swirling the drink in her hand. “Or was it ‘art imitates life’? No... I’m pretty sure it was the first one.”

When she doesn’t expand any further, he answers, “I’m familiar.”

Caroline places her glass on the bar surface, inhaling deeply through her nose as she contemplates her words. “The whole,” she twirls a finger in the air, “’Tyler cheating on me’ thing was supposed to be an act.” She’s aware that she may be disappointing him, perhaps even pissing him off, but she’s not finished with her confession. “But apparently, the ‘act’ was an act, too.”

The last time they had met, it ended it somewhat...sourly. As usual, she was just a distraction. Lying in bed, she accuses herself of _liking_ that role. And maybe she does. Maybe she likes the feeling of being the only one that can hold his entire attention for as long as she so chooses. Maybe because after all the boys she had tried so desperately to keep in her grasp, she doesn’t even have to lift a finger with the Big Bad Hybrid.

The last time, she agreed to a date in exchange for something, using the false assumption of Tyler’s infidelity to her advantage. But that assumption wasn’t so false now, was it? Klaus had told her that under his sire, Tyler would have never hurt her - _I wouldn’t have let him_ \- and she can tell he’s dying to use the same words but won’t for the sake of originality. And despite this moment feeling like a typical ‘date’ scenario, it wasn’t planned and she knows he won’t view it as such. But suddenly, she doesn’t mind.

“I overheard them this morning.” She looks blankly at the shelves of alcohol in front of them. “‘Caroline’s sensitive. I’ll tell her about us when this is all over’,” she quotes grandly before laughing into her glass. She considers whether Tyler had known of her presence behind the door and that was his way of ripping off the band aid with little to no mess. But then she remembers how self-concerned he’s been and it seems unlikely. Her voice crackles suddenly, “And I can’t just bring it up to him because either way, bitchy, insecure Caroline Forbes is someone’s second choice _once again_.”

Klaus doesn’t give her a reply. He sits and watches as she attempts to mask the pain with a bitter grin. So she presses on with her despairing thoughts, “I think I need a soothsayer to just tell me it how it all ends and put me out of my misery...or a palm reading at the _very_ least.” She hopes her lighthearted approach will give him an opening but he doesn’t take it.

There’s a long stretch of silence, the background noises of the bar serving as _some_ comfort to her anxiety. She wonders if this is when Klaus Mikaelson will decide she’s not worth it. His whole image of her has been bathed in the idea that she’s _strong_ ,but she always knew there would come a time to show him that she’s _anything but._

Instead of punishing herself by rambling on, she just sighs quietly and stares into the half-empty glass in front of her. It’s then that he finally shifts and she’s almost startled by how close he gets without touching her. His warm voice envelops her right ear, “You know, sweetheart, I was once told I’m quite adept at palm readings.”

Caroline’s frustrated with just how relieved she is that he’s not totally repulsed by her. She considers letting out all of her upset just to see how much of her pathetic humanity he can tolerate. But she decides against it as his eyes seem to burn with a purpose.

Though her dull and drunken stare holds him, she offers up her hand across the bar top. He glances at her as if to gain some affirmation and cups the back of her hand with his own. It’s awfully intimate and she can’t quite place why. Perhaps it’s that it’s the first time they’ve made physical contact without some sobering reality hovering around them. She’s not dying or trying to distract or appease him for some ulterior motive. She’s _inviting_ his touch.

Klaus lifts an index finger above her palm, checking for her reaction once more, though she’s fairly certain that she looks like a sorority girl just one drink away from fucking up her hair. If she does, he doesn’t seem notice it.

The pad of his finger finally grazes her palm, starting at the base and working its way up and around. He’s muttering something about fate but all she can think about is how soft his touch is. His accented voice only complements how careful and precise his movements are. In another, _sober_ setting, she might pull away and concoct a reason to pretend as though they just got _carried away_ , but she doesn’t want to. She wants to feel every ticklish sensation as he inspects the insignificant lines weaving across her palm.

A dangerous thought passes through her and he’s soon tracing along what she’s fully aware is the heart line. When she looks up at him, he’s ready and waiting with his deep, blue eyes. They’ve always been something she’s sought to decipher because unlike his words, they harbour more than what he wants her to see. She feels her cheeks flush when his stare brushes over her lips. It’s not sexual or even romantic from what she can tell, but it’s meaningful all the same.

“So what does my palm tell you?” she struggles out, her throat constricting on the last few syllables.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That you deserve more.”

And like that, she’s shot through the heart because she knows it’s true but has spent too much of her life doubting it. Whether or not this is just a game to him, she’s fighting an urge to kiss him on the spot. Because he’s bad. Because everyone _thinks_ he’s bad. But he’s also the only person in her life that makes her feel good right now.

Klaus waits, his hands now cocooning her palm, but she has no idea where to go from that. So she pulls her hand back and he lets her without a single question or comment.

“I’m,” she begins but any sentence she had planned gets lost in her throat.

“Drunk,” he finishes for her. It’s not judgemental or sarcastic. It’s just matter-of-fact. “I understand, Caroline.”

She hates how delicately he says her name because it only makes her want him more. She tries to convince herself that it’s just the accent but she can’t recall feeling this way when addressed by anyone else.

Before she can move past analysing the usage of her name, he offers, “May I walk you home?”

And this is the moment she knows she’s screwed because she doesn’t even hesitate to say, “Yes.”


	2. II

The walk home is short and adds nothing of note to the night due to a sweet mix of inebriation and  _ preoccupation _ . She’s too busy questioning whether she’s starting something she won’t be able to finish but he leaves her on the porch with the most enamoured glance back that she couldn’t care either way. In her stupor, she considers, much like a teenage girl, not washing her hand before that one rational part of her brain realises how disgusting that would be. If she remembers that thought the next day, she’ll put it down to alcohol rather than anything serious.

When she crashes into bed, it all becomes lost until the morning, at which point she struggles to contain a smile. It’s pathetic, she knows. But she’s been so used to wishing for reciprocation from so many men that she’s surprised by how  _ good _ it feels. And the added knowledge that  _ she _ is the one to do it is thrilling. Try as she might, Caroline can’t erase those fleeting moments of intimacy from her head.

The second time she feels his touch, they’re sitting on a stone bench on the green of the Founders’ Hall. It’s earlier that day that he redeems his ‘one free date’ pass and despite her stand-offish acceptance, she feels the complete opposite of that. The far off green is the closest they can get to privacy but she’s thankful; any more private and she would be sweating. She’s not ready for that just yet.

They’ve been discussing humanity and her embarrassing Miss Mystic application and it just feels effortless. One might question what a small-town girl turned vampire and a  _ thousand _ -year old hybrid might have to talk about besides the nearest blood bank but somehow they’re making do.

Caroline turns her head slightly, her blonde locks brushing against her shoulder, and asks, “What’s your favourite movie? If you’re into that sorta thing.”

Klaus chuckles instantly and though she frowns, she enjoys hearing the sound. “I know you think I must retire to my coffin every night, love, but I  _ do _ frequent the cinema more often than one might assume.”

“Well,  _ sorry _ ,” she takes a short sip of champagne, ”but I can’t really picture an Original going to see the  _ Fast and the Furious _ with a bucket of sweet and salted popcorn under his arm.”

Klaus tops up her drink without a prompt, his brows rising above a coquettish set of eyes. “That’s because I prefer it just salted.”

He’s making a joke. A meaningless, ‘ha-ha’ joke. And she wants to laugh harder than it deserves but she rolls her eyes and counters, “Of course because you  _ hate _ fun.”

They share a dry glance and she leans back on her hands, the stone rough against her palm. The silence is oddly comfortable. She feels like they’re just regular people. Because as wonderful as being a vampire is, she does lean into the conventions of it all lately. Bonding over how best to drain someone is a conversation for another time.

She knows Tyler is watching in the distance, trying his hardest to listen in while he sits with that... _ wolf _ . And she’s enjoying making him suffer even if, by the end of the day, he’ll be screwing Hayley. This moment with Klaus is the closest she’ll get to flirting with him in public because as far as their friends know, she and Tyler are still ‘putting on an act’. But in her mind, this is the real thing. In her mind, they’ve already broken up.

Before she can dwell on it, Klaus speaks up, “The Godfather.”

Caroline contemplates it for a moment but erupts into a fit of giggles that leaves him bewildered. She isn’t sure if she’s hallucinating but she notes a flash of insecurity in his eyes and immediately clears her throat.

“Does that amuse you, sweetheart?” His brittle voice has her feeling guilty. She’s now sure that as a being of his age, he doesn’t often have the chance to converse over trivial interests. And here she is, laughing in his face about it.

“It’s just,” she finally begins, sipping her drink to collect her thoughts, “I’m constantly trying to figure you out, wondering what you’ll do next, who you’ll  _ kill _ next…”

His brows furrow and he twitches his head. It’s clear that Klaus has no idea where she’s going with this. She knows she’ll save this image for later; it’s too adorable not to.

“But for once you’re...predictable. Very  _ Klaus _ .” Caroline presses her lips into a smile at the thought. She tilts her head his way, leaning on her left palm to add, “It’s nice.”

When she finishes her explanation, Klaus is just staring at her. He’s stunned. In the grand scheme of things, it’s such an insignificant statement. But he’s  _ stunned _ . She’s wondering whether this is the first time someone has ever complimented him so casually. She hadn’t thought it possible but she’s more attracted to him than any other moment so far.

She watches his body rock in place for a tenth of a second and his eyes flash with gold as he glances at her lips. He wants to kiss her. She knows because she wants him to do it, too. But they don’t bridge the gap. Instead, they both look away across the grass.

“What about you?”

Caroline wants to bite her lip. He says it so carefully, like he’s unsure of how to carry a conversation that’s  _ this _ mundane. But he’s trying.

She looks at her lap and flushes. He’s waiting and she’s suddenly embarrassed by her own answer. She knows she could lie but she’s never been  _ great _ at it. When she eventually looks at him, he looks concerned. With a grimace, she admits, “27 Dresses.”

The name doesn’t register on his face and Caroline groans because the reason why it’s her favourite is just so... _ her _ . It’s everything about her that elicits those pitiful glances from her friends. She lets it out with a deep breath, “It’s about this woman who is, like,  _ obsessed _ weddings and this journalist does a piece on her because she’s been in so many—“

“Twenty-seven.”

“Right,” she says rather nervously. She’s honestly surprised he’s even paying attention. Most men switch off the moment she says the word ‘dresses’. She straightens up, a burst of energy in her voice, “But it’s like the whole ‘always the bridesmaid never the bride’ thing,” she makes a face, “and she’s in love with her boss but her  _ sister _ , who’s super pretty and gets by so  _ easily _ , comes to town and  _ falls in love  _ with her boss and—“ She’s getting carried away. But worst of all, she realises as she’s saying it that she’s both describing the  _ entire _ movie and her resentment towards Elena. With a quiet laugh and a brush of her hair behind her ear, she downplays her words, “It’s stupid.”

“Not at all,” he’s swift to counter her but she’s feeling too ashamed to look at him. “I think it’s common to find joy in the films that connect with the deepest and  _ darkest _ parts of ourselves.”

He’s reading her like a book and she’s reminded of their exchange at the bar. In those moments, she debated seeing how broken down, pathetic and  _ classically Caroline _ she could be before he bolted. Sober, she’s less willing to display such a thing. But he sees it anyway.

She begins the futile task of counting blades of grass while she carelessly drinks the rest of her champagne. Her brain is just overloaded with criticism and silly replays of the last minute and a half. It’s only when she feels his pinky finger settle against hers that it stops. But while her thoughts may cease, so does her breathing and she has to draw a sharp breath when she becomes aware of the fact.

Klaus isn’t looking at her when she turns her head his way; he’s taking in the view of the crowd on the opposite side of the little, wooden bridge. His fingers are now absentmindedly brushing over the joints in her fingers. It’s agonising. She watches the side of his face and catches herself wondering how his stubble would feel against her cheek if she kisses him.

His words awaken her, “I think it’s best we join them, don’t you?”

Caroline swallows gently but nods when he eventually looks at her. She’s tempted to change her answer, to shake her head and demand they stay right where they are, but she’s worried that in doing so, it won’t go unnoticed by Tyler. And yes, she knows, at this point, it’s nothing in comparison to what he’s done, what he’s  _ still _ doing, but she’s not ready for the conflict that comes with it. For now, she’ll settle for the small things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **COMMENTS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED**


	3. III

Caroline feels terrible for what she does next. She’s barely listening when Tyler and Hayley run over their plan to take him out. She hears the word ‘distraction’ and her gut takes an unforgiving hit. She wants to do it then: scream at Tyler for his infidelity and reject their plan. But Stefan is there and his eyes are analysing every twitch on her face. It’s Klaus. He’s the bad guy. He looks at her like she’s everything she’s been _so_ sure she isn’t. But this isn’t about him. This is about the poor wolves he’s taken the lives of so selfishly to serve him. So she agrees.

And when he hands her the glass of champagne and suggests they have a ‘thing’, she’s fighting a bashful smile. She doesn’t want to have a ‘thing’ with him. Their intimate moments in the past have led her down a path of self-destruction. Her time in solitary has been spent staving off memories of his fingers tracing her hand and the unquestionably human conversation they shared on the green.

But the _next_ time they _touch_ is a different story.

They’re set back the moment he bites her in the Gilbert house and when they’re alone, she bitterly informs him that she’s aware of his true feelings. It feels like a huge betrayal in the moment but she knows it has more to do with him testing the limits of those feelings and seeing Tyler’s reaction than wishing to cause her actual pain. Still, her life, once again, depends entirely on him and so lessens the regret of her past distractions.

In retaliation, Tyler has placed her mere feet away from him so that he can see the consequences of his actions.

And she feels a twist in her gut. 

Because as much as Klaus deserves to witness such a thing, she feels like nothing more than a prop. Tyler’s hand cradling her head as he set her down on the couch is retroactively upsetting; it reminds her of a time when his affection was nothing more than affection. Now, it’s laced with the underlying truth.

When Caroline’s falling off the edge of consciousness, a weak rasp in her voice, she’s abruptly pulled back by the wrist placed around her mouth and the hand stroking her hair. She feels more vulnerable in Klaus’ presence than ever. It provides her with some conflicting emotions. He cares for her to the extent that he won’t let her be collateral damage and yet, that’s exactly the role she has continually filled. From Damon to Katherine to Alaric...to _him_.

But no, the real point of contention between her and Klaus is not his violent act, but the declaration he makes some time after her recovery.

_“I will give him a head start before I kill him.”_

The moment she shares with Tyler to bid him farewell is simply a run through the motions. He tries to kiss her upset away. She tells him to forget her, to live his life and move on. And she means it. It’s less angry than she wants it to be, more _gracious_ than he deserves. It leaves her feeling sick and there’s a brief moment in which she debates screaming out the knowledge of his affair, but an impending death at the hands of the Hybrid is a cruel enough farewell gift. So again, her true feelings are left on ice in consideration of the circumstances. In consideration of _others_.

The night ends with Klaus describing the declaration as an extension of mercy, a gesture _for her_. She finds that she has nothing to say despite the array of thoughts fighting for the coveted act of verbalisation. He, too, seems to struggle, his eyes averting hers when she offers no reply. Instead, he leaves her on the porch.

It’s not long before they speak, however. She’s sitting in a booth at the back of The Grill (a conscious decision on her part — she’s in no mood to pretend she gives a shit about the cacophony of issues surrounding her friends), nursing a strong cocktail when he slides in opposite her.

“Turning to vices in light of recent events, love?”

It’s odd to her that despite the unwanted topic of conversation, his voice has the same, shivering effect on her.

“It’s the best way to pass the time when your boyfriend is chased out of town,” Caroline muses, twirling the flowery parasol that had decorated her drink between her fingers.

She sees his eyebrows rising from underneath her lashes and she groans internally. Even _she_ finds her unchanged usage of the label ‘boyfriend’ pathetic. But what else can she say? _The guy who is_ **_still_ ** _my boyfriend but is_ **_still_ ** _cheating on me was chased out of town by you before I could finally add an ‘ex’ to that title_. Of course, she knows it’s more her fault than his but she’s in the mood for projecting blame.

She’s thankful he chooses not to comment on it. Alternatively, he props his arms onto the table and says, “You know I find it mighty perplexing that you’d _favour_ the life of the man still continuing on an affair with that young wolf.”

She scoffs, her neck twisting for a considerable moment, and lands on him with a dull expression. “I don’t want him to _die_.”

His lips curl as he raises, “Not even with the knowledge that he has chosen to spend his exile in her company?”

She could easily crush her glass at how much of a gloat he’s being. But she simply stares him down. “Yes.”

Caroline is undeniably aware of the cognitive dissonance she’s displaying on this night. Tyler is a liar and a cheater, and she would be hard pressed to _not_ tear him apart given the chance. But that’s something she wishes to do herself if at all and requires something that is in finite supply: time.

The search for the cure had put all of her emotions in a stasis. She _knew_ that every time Tyler kissed her goodnight before his exile was shortly followed by a kiss hello between him and Hayley. She didn’t say a word. And as a result of Katherine stealing the cure, Silas being released and Jeremy’s death ( _on top_ of Tyler’s exile), no one has even thought to ask her how she is. She simply hasn’t been afforded the time to reconcile her feelings.

In a way, Klaus’ threat on Tyler’s very existence feels more like an offer than anything.

At the hands of Klaus, Tyler would be punished for his infidelity in a way that only the darkest parts of her mind have conjured. All she would have to do is say the word and he would bring it to fruition. His reputation is incapable of being sullied by an action that would leave hers in the gutter. What’s one murder when stacked up against a billion others? That thought is thrilling in the worst way possible.

It also feels like another test — this time, he’s testing _her_.

And if she’s being honest, every moment of her life feels as such. A test. To prove to people whether she is or isn’t the way they perceive her. Good or bad. Light or dark. She wonders how he would react if she entertained the idea. _Do it._ Would it surprise him? Would that finally turn the tide on his pursuit of her? Or is opposing his threat already taking the same effect?

No. She won’t let her beliefs be compromised in this moment. She merely wishes a _metaphorical_ death on her _ex_ -boyfriend.

Klaus begins lightheartedly, “Well then,” he quirks his lips, “what exactly _do_ you want?”

She doesn’t even have to consider it when she answers, “What I want is to stop being treated like this.”

Surprise is undoubtedly splashed across his face but is quickly covered with a tensing jaw. “Like what?”

“Like I’m just collateral to all of you,” she huffs out before downing the remainder of her cocktail. She slams the glass down but it’s controlled enough not to smash it. “Do I _have_ to play this stupid _fucking_ game?”

Her sudden out-pour of anger feels like a parallel to the night his fingers traced her palm. She thinks that _surely_ , _this_ is the clincher. Insecure Caroline is one thing, raging _bitch_ Caroline is one thing, but _this_ is an amalgamation of the two. _This_ is the true depth of her as a person.

Klaus studies her while she avoids his eyes by fiddling with the tiny parasol. She aims to continue until she’s left alone but his calloused hand catches her wrist. Her lips part and she lets the parasol fall from her grasp. It’s only when she carefully lifts her eyes to him that he speaks, “You are worth more than collateral, Caroline. That is something I have regrettably learned too late.”

Her throat swells at the earnest glint in his eyes and the strain in every syllable. She wants to tell herself that it’s a line. He’s a thousand years old. It’s enough time to practice similar words on a million other girls. But she can’t. His thumb is stroking the inside of her wrist and his gaze is begging her to believe him.

Perhaps the alcohol has gone to her head (she’ll blame it on such if questioned) but she’s suddenly focused on his lips. And in a matter of seconds, she’s reaching across the table, the edge of it digging into her stomach, and kissing him. It’s clumsy and her head is a haze of heart-wrenching attraction. He’s reciprocating, albeit slowly, and his grip on her wrist settles comfortably. She can finally put her mind to rest on how his mouth would taste, though she’s sure the cocktail has numbed her senses, and she finds that she can’t get enough.

But when she naturally breaks away and witnesses the dumbfounded expression he’s donning, her instincts kick in.

“Oh my god,” is all she can choke out, her glazed over eyes now shooting open. She doesn’t even give him a chance to think or do _anything_. She just leaves. And it’s late enough that she wagers her vampirically-charged rush out of the bar goes unnoticed by the drunks scattered around.

It’s only when she’s pressed up against her bedroom door that she can take a real breath.

She just kissed Klaus Mikaelson.

And it felt _amazing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **COMMENTS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED**
> 
> **I want to thank those of you who have made an effort to comment on this story because it's a big reason why I wrote a part II and a BIG reason for why I've written part III. I have other WIPs if you care to take a look but this one took on a mind of it's own.**
> 
> **For some reason, I've been on a downturn these last few days but I was inspired by comments from a person named 'C' to write this chapter today. It's obviously taking a huge diversion from the events of season 4 (the original prompt for this story was that they have an affair) and I've decided not to directly re-write any scenes (hence Caroline's POV describing the whole 4x13/4x14), but simply add in new scenes.**


	4. IV

Caroline avoids Klaus until now. She’s thought about it so much that she doesn’t know how to feel about having kissed him. If she sits with the thought for too long, she’s in danger of feeding into a fantasy that she knows will bring nothing but drama (even if it  _ is _ such a tempting fantasy). Instead, she buries herself in school work and cheer practice. Fangs or no fangs, there’s still a diploma to earn and a competition to win. Shouting at squad members for minuscule errors proves to be therapeutic, albeit an exercise in projection, something she has come to recognise as her choice of coping mechanism. Who  _ cares _ if she  _ kissed _ Klaus when Tiffany keeps fucking up her herkie, right? And the latter is something she’s much more willing to confront.

But something about having her best friend let her down quite  _ literally _ —she’s sure that had it not been for her vampirism, she would be wearing a brace —, makes the Mikaelson mansion her first stop after the competition. She supposes at some point, the list of people to avoid becomes so extensive you have to pick one to avoid the other. She admittedly suppresses her full speed when making the journey; opening lines are so sorely taken for granted and she would prefer not to look like a flustered little girl.

Entering the mansion, she plans to lecture him on locking his front door (for the sake of whichever unlucky mailman dares to enter). She considers calling out his name but at the risk of sounding depraved, she becomes preoccupied with the idea of catching him at an indecent time. Yes, it’s self-indulgent to a new degree, but it’s been one big dry spell since learning of Tyler’s infidelity. Sue her. So now she’s wandering the hallways, considering what she might do if he  _ is _ indecent and it’s not something she’ll  _ ever _ share with him (but it  _ does _ excite her to no end).

To her dismay, however, she finds he is already in the company of a young brunette. A young,  _ home-wrecking _ , brunette that she would sooner rip the hair out of than acknowledge the presence of. And they’re standing  _ way _ too close for her comfort. She catches the sight of it and presses her back against the wall until her shoulder blades are pleading for comfort.

Hayley rolls her head to the side  _ just _ slightly and shrugs. “Well, then, I guess I'll never get my chance with Tyler any more than you'll get a shot with Caroline.”

Caroline feels a stab in her chest at the statement. She’s surprised that while Hayley’s words invoke a sense of anger, there’s also a bile of insecurity that begins to build. Because she makes her tryst with Tyler sound so intangible, so innocent, yet addresses Klaus with a tone that invites him to remedy it.

It’s no wonder why Tyler sought after her, she thinks; Hayley’s the ‘cool’ girl. Hayley doesn’t have to  _ do _ or  _ say _ anything. That’s her charm. Hayley rolls her eyes and quips at the expense of high maintenance girls like her. And as much as she tries, she’s known all too well that she can’t compete with the ‘cool’ girl. If she was in her bedroom, she would scream into her pillow. And she hates this new sense of self-awareness because despite recognising those thoughts as  _ irrational _ , she can’t seem to cure herself of them any more than a human could stop an oncoming train.

She ponders escaping when Klaus brings himself an inch closer to Hayley. But her feet remain planted on the hardwood flooring. Maybe she’s a sucker for punishment. Because she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something to remind her that as much as he  _ fancies _ her, she’s just another one of the girls he tempts into bed.

But he surprises her.

Though Klaus lowers his head, he grins in a way that she knows can only be followed by bloodshed, psychological or otherwise. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

Hayley laughs lazily into her reply, eyebrows raised, “You seriously think you have a shot?”

“As much as you have with Tyler,” he reasons lightheartedly and finally steps away with his arms gestured out. It settles her nerves considerably. “Tell me, is that bed and breakfast outside of Virginia any good?”

And that stirs them once more.

She struggles to swallow them and stares out into the space in front. But the grand decor of his hallway can’t comfort her like the plush comfort of her own bedroom can. She feels like a fool for affording Tyler a gracious exit. Even under the threat of death, he’s happy to insult her. And in a bed and breakfast no less. But what shivers down her spine is the realisation that Klaus has been harbouring this knowledge.

“How long have you known?” Hayley’s voice passes through as if it came from her own lips.

But of course, Klaus enjoys the upper-hand. “It’s a bit tacky if you ask me.” There’s a pause. He sighs, his voice rising, “So as I said earlier, you’re free to leave.”

That brings her back into reality and she rushes to safety as Hayley’s feet lift from the floor. She can feel her presence pass through her previous location, notes the pause in her steps before she carries on to the exit. It’s only then that she can breathe.

“You’re alright to come out now,” Klaus’ voice travels easily but she’s hesitant.

She lets her eyes fall shut as she steps out through the opposing archway of the drawing room. When she lays her eyes on him, he’s donning a calm smile. She returns it as best as she can. “Hey.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, love?”

The way his tongue rolls along the syllables wipes her memory of any prepared speech, and she would have scolded him for it had he not been in possession of an already overly-fed ego. Still, she takes the opportunity to scan over the henley hugging his torso when he turns to fix a drink.

“I, uh,” she curses herself internally as he faces her once more, “thought we could talk about...what happened at The Grill.”

“You’re finally ready to address it then.” She’s unsure of whether it’s a question or a statement but it’s not one she wants to acknowledge regardless. He takes a sip of the bourbon nestled comfortably in his grasp; she recalls the way it felt around her wrist that night. “We can forget it, of course,” he begins airily but lowers his voice to add, “if it’s not what you wanted.”

Caroline would be stupid not to recognise  _ this _ as a test. And she  _ could _ give him a straightforward answer but that means admitting something only her diary would be privy to. Her lips twist and she takes a cautious set of steps forward. “I just don’t know if I was in the perfect head space to do it, you know?”

She registers a familiar flash of insecurity in his eyes—it causes her heart to jump—but he looks away before she can memorise it. “Yes, well, the cocktails may have lowered your critical thinking,” he comments with a brittle smile, his returning gaze a mask of agitation.

“Right…” Caroline’s reply trails off along with her averting eyes. She takes the moment to replay her actions, the way she lunged across that table and kissed him so sloppily. Call her childish—she’s never been adept at confronting her own embarrassment—but she giggles. He seems offended much like their time at the Founder’s Gala, but she then groans (she recalls their teeth knocking) and his face becomes a picture of bewilderment. Pressing her fingers to her temple, she laments in amusement, “God, I practically  _ mauled _ you.”

Klaus moves towards her rather abruptly and assures, “I quite enjoyed it, sweetheart, if that is what you’re worried about?” She takes in the sight of him and they seem to share an equal surprise. Once again, he’s trying to remind her of the pedestal he would gladly place her on upon her acceptance and it doesn’t fail to make her heart flutter. It’s now, when he’s but one foot away, that she realises his glass is settled on the mantelpiece beside them. His voice regains its usual charm, albeit more serious than ever before, as he says, “Though I’ll admit I would much prefer you to be sober when it happens next.”

When. Not if. When.

And that’s the problem. Caroline can’t disagree with ‘when’. Because even she knows it’s just a matter of time before she gives in. Whether it takes a year or a century, she  _ knows _ she’ll give in. She just won’t say it out loud. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **COMMENTS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED**
> 
> **I hope you enjoyed this and I hope you will have some patience in waiting for the next one. Unfortunately, life is about to get hectic and (shameless self promotion time) I have another fic titled Psychedelic Kicks (which I highly encourage you read and give your love to - I am not even going to pretend to be humble because I love it with my entire heart and soul), which is coming to an end in five chapters and I've decided to give it all of my energy to finish so that I can make it the best it can be.**
> 
> **When _will_ the next chapter of Grazing come? I don't know. Whenever I finish Psychedelic Kicks.**
> 
> **I'll still be on Tumblr at klarolineagainnaturally.tumblr.com just chilling if you have any questions about my fics or writing or just want to shower me with love (that's always appreciated).**
> 
> **Thank you!**
> 
> **xx Lottie**
> 
> **P.S. A big thank you those those who recommended this fic for the KCFICRECEVENT. It means a lot to me!**


	5. V

Well, it seems that ‘when’ isn’t as far in the future as Caroline anticipates. Only five hours have passed since Klaus’ declaration of time and despite her efforts to clear her mind by way of dancing and alcohol, she’s out in the forest standing off against a warmongering Elena. And there's a few _choice_ words she would like to use in regards to her _friend_.

Elena has taken the switch of her humanity to excuse some questionable actions (including removing the _trust_ out of _trust fall_ earlier that day) but none so infuriating as hurting Caroline’s mother. Distraction or not, the fact that her childhood friend is now using her mother as leverage just pools in her gut with anger. But what gets to her the most, what _really_ plucks at her human insecurities, is that she could never be afforded the same luxury, the same _accommodation_ for such actions.

Elena antagonizes her to the point of picking at fresh wounds. _Dirty thoughts about Klaus._ Caroline rebukes it as quickly as it passes Elena’s lips. She wishes she had something wittier to retort with but she’s not the one looking for a fight, so a simple _shut up_ suffices. Still, that does nothing to aid or hinder the conflict. Because soon, arms are swinging and bodies are rushing. Alaric’s training of Elena has _clearly_ paid off but she refuses to entertain the idea that she’s any more competent than her.

It finally ends when Elena thrusts a thick and splintered branch through her stomach and it takes everything in her not to scream out profanities until her throat is raw. Mere seconds pass and both Damon and Stefan have arrived. Damon is holding back Elena, who looks most proud of her accomplishments, while Stefan rushes to help remove the improvised weapon. It feels nice to have him comfort her and she’s thankful that after everything, it reminds her that she isn’t _always_ an afterthought.

The moment she becomes truly aware of her standing, _however_ , is when Stefan tries to downplay just how far gone Elena is. _It's not her. You have to remember that._ So despite the gaping hole through her stomach, she rushes off through the woods without a single word to Stefan. Her lips are trembling and she isn’t at all surprised to find no one is coming after her. She really isn’t sure why she’s heading in the direction of the mansion. Because maybe they _should_ give Elena some leeway. It’s not _her_ after all. But maybe she’s not feeling quite herself either.

Caroline is almost there before she feels a sharp pain in her abdomen. Stumbling into the nearest tree, she clambers for stability and grazes herself in the process. Her body slumps down against the base and her fingers search frantically across her stomach. She’s thankful that when she feels her wound, the stray chunk of branch isn’t lodged too deeply. But it’s enough to make her yelp when she curls her finger into her flesh.

The sigh she releases is shuddering but relieving as she lets her head fall back against the tree bark. There’s only a brief moment of quiet before a whooshing air approaches and she clutches her chest reflexively. The smell of his earthy cologne is overwhelming and the realisation that it’s _him_ only seems to exchange fear for another kind of anxiety.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Klaus asks in such a low hush that her eyelashes subconsciously flutter. “What happened?”

“Elena happened,” she states breathlessly. Her eyes analyse the hand he’s offering but she opts to pull herself up. Bits off moss become embedded in her fingernails, a thought that becomes prominent despite how inconvenient the timing is. When she realises that he’s unwilling to drop that concerned, straining expression, she coughs out, “It’s fine.” Caroline can see his eyes burning with anger and she’s sure that if she were any less morally-inclined, he would offer to end Elena as he would have offered the same end to Tyler. But she’s tipsy enough to know that if he did, she just might say yes this time.

Klaus takes one last look at her after glancing across the line of trees and says, “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” She can’t help the small smile that pricks at her lips, hopes he won’t question or tease her for being in such close proximity to his home.

On the contrary, Klaus mentions nothing in relation to her predicament. He lets her wash up, twitches his brows when giving her the choice of his bathroom or the guest’s. Having the chance to see inside the big, bad hybrid’s room is awfully tempting and she’s willing to bet he knows that in making such an offer, she will most _definitely_ snoop. If there’s one thing heightened by her vampirism, it’s curiosity. Nonetheless, she feigns disinterest and chooses the guest room. Her feet _do_ linger when passing what she senses is his room; the smell of acrylic paint is too strong not to make the presumption. She considers cracking it open to gain that little bit of satisfaction until she realises a moment too late that he can likely hear her every movement and so rushes down the hallway, her face red and eyes wide.

The guest room, had it not been lacking in personal effects, is lavish enough that any of the Mikaelsons could be inhabiting it and she would be none the wiser. The bathroom is fully stocked and she begins to see appeal in their lifestyle when the hot water forcefully pours onto her back. The clean set of clothes left on the bed when she creeps back into the room is surprisingly thoughtful. It’s a little unnerving how well he knows her taste and she doesn’t dare to ask where they’re from. _Former lovers_ is what she thinks of first and practically scoffs at the instinctive rise in jealousy she feels. The young Caroline that clings to her subconscious suggests that maybe she’s not the first pretty, defiant blonde to stroll into his life. And so, despite knowing how pathetic and unwarranted the idea is, she puts her dirt and blood stained clothes back on. The red-tinged tear in the stomach is a little obvious but she’s resolute that it isn’t anything she can’t pull off.

When Caroline comes down the stairs to meet him, she’s ready with a hard stare in case he comments on her clothing. Klaus simply smirks and it seems to make her bristle more than any comment could. He offers her his own blood once she’s settled into the largest couch of the drawing room but she’s quick to decline it. So, with minor reluctance, he offers her a bag of B positive. She’s too tired to point out the irony, ripping it open with one swift action.

“Penny for your thoughts?” his voice finally breaks into the silence and if it wasn’t for the sudden realisation of her surroundings, she might have let it pass through unanswered.

Caroline tosses the empty blood bag onto the side table and it rests lopsided against the Tiffany lamp, which earns her a grin. She forces herself up and paces with a sigh, “She was so strong. Like, I had to try _so_ hard to _just_ keep her back.”

She senses Klaus rise from the armchair behind her and his voice is typically blasé as he replies, “Humanity is a pesky little block, you know.”

“But I’m older. I _should_ be stronger.” Her face is twisted in irritation and she spins in his direction, her mess of unstyled curls swinging. “Right?” He’s closer than she anticipated and she fights the nerves that bubble in her throat with a strangled cough.

He doesn’t _seem_ to notice as he retains the same, placid expression. “I am certain that had you wanted to hurt her, you would have—“

She rolls her eyes and her head bobs along as she adds, “But I’m full of light. Yeah I got it.” She hates to seem so bitter about something she has regarded as one of the most beautiful compliments she has ever received, not that she will _ever_ tell him such, but this whole day has had that effect on her. She can’t help but think about finding Hayley in his presence goading him on and then Elena’s very _pointed_ insult. Because in some, _again_ , pathetic way, she wonders if all he’s been waiting for is for her to give into those _dirty thoughts_ and then he’ll move onto the next.

His head drops slightly as he covers a chuckle. It’s almost as frustrating as his words, though for more shallow reasons. He finally looks at her, eyes softening. “That and you have greater self-control than most.” He steps around her, his voice leaning into grand notes, “I believe that is a skill far more precious.”

It’s a mundane comment, nothing to write home about, but she feels this flash of surprise in her chest, like her heart has missed a beat. She can usually rebuff his compliments with sarcasm or some dismissive laugh but she finds herself unable, nay, unwilling to even think of doing such. Instead, she clasps her hands at her front to soothe herself. She shifts on her feet as she asks, “How long did it take you? To control it.”

Klaus’ eyes flare with an interest that slowly dulls itself as he states, “Seeing as we were the first, it was an incredibly drawn out process.” He sighs quietly. It’s a sound she might like to hear again. He turns and meets her in the middle of the room. “And injuries weren’t uncommon. To see or smell blood and not bare one’s fangs? Let’s just say, I’m happy to have mastered such restraint.”

Her lips push out thoughtfully for a moment before she asks with such impulsive abruptness, “Can I see them?” It’s her most obvious of human traits: curiosity. But this time, she has no problem displaying it.

His whole expression freezes. His whole _body_ comes to a standstill. It’s a scene so easy to poke fun at but she’s all too focused on this whim of desire to cause any distraction. His lashes flutter atop his deep, blue eyes. He says, “Pardon?”

She refuses any patience and clarifies, “Your fangs.”

There’s a sense of incredulity in his face but his growing smile indicates she hasn’t taken any wrong turns. The release of his fangs is swift and they’re certainly impressive, but something else catches her eye. His glowing, gold irises take her off guard and she finds herself close to falling right into them. It’s so fitting, she thinks, that under all the tones of blue, lies a shimmering gold. She also wants to lodge a complaint against how boring her own vampiric eyes seem in comparison. Veins protrude from his skin shortly, dark shadows forming along the edges. They appear to be deeper than hers and she’s one foot-in-mouth moment away from asking whether that’s how vampires display their _old_ age.

She’ll swear it’s only a reflex but her hand reaches out to him. He seems to hesitate just as much as her because even through his supernatural visage, she can just _feel_ the shared rise of anticipation. She lets her hand hover mere inches away and her cheeks flush when he raises a questioning brow. When her fingers make contact with his cold, rough skin, his jaw becomes tense. It’s comforting, in a way, to see him so conscious of her every movement. And there’s a new sense of control that she’s always felt herself to be lacking around him. The delicates of her fingers graze along the veins under his right eye and they seem to grow more intense as she touches them.

Even after everything, the transition, the fights, the bloodshed, she’s coming to realise that she hasn’t ever just _appreciated_ the affliction for what it is. They’ve all pretended as though they’ve embraced it but what they’ve really done is masked it with some pretty, human-like finish. The best of them resent the affliction, cling onto the idea of a cure, and the worst treat it like some dirty secret as a result of past indiscretions. But there’s some strange beauty about it. About him.

Caroline can’t help that for one microsecond—and then for an intermittent second and third—she glances at his lips. The final time she meets his eyes, they’re glazing over with undiscovered lust; it’s terrifying. “I’m not sober,” she attempts to argue, a quiet rasp in every word.

“That makes two of us, love,” rumbles from between his lips before he consumes her mouth.

There’s a sense of urgency to be had between them. They become frantic with every kiss, hands roaming until they reach spaces that satisfy the other’s need. Klaus finds her spot when his hands possessively curve around her waist, his thumbs swiping against her skin, and she whimpers instinctively. She finds his the moment her fingers have wrapped themselves around his short locks of hair, his groan illuminating how delayed this entanglement has been. She prays to god he won’t punish her for it later but she presses him up against the wall. And for all of his showmanship and persistent desire to prove his ‘alpha-male’ status, Klaus has no problem letting her take the lead. She’s afraid to admit it but she’s never wanted him more.

It seems, however, that they’re both aware that _time_ is a looming factor in this. He has nowhere to be and she’s sure that neither Stefan nor Damon (and of course, nor Elena) will be looking for her any time soon. But there’s an awareness that it’s only a matter of _time_ before one of them realises the gravity of every sordid touch and feels obligated to ground them. So they rush.

Between every kiss, another item of clothing is peeled away, discarded somewhere on the Persian rug. Though cleanliness is clearly none of his concern, she’s happy to be stripped of her _battle uniform_ ; it was a questionable choice, she’ll now admit. She manages to rid him of the henley clinging to his upper body and only manages to catch a glimpse of his tattoos before he’s attaching his hot, wet mouth to the nape of her neck.

She isn’t sure when it happens but she’s now the one with her back pressed into the wall. She doesn’t protest, only curls her fingers around his shoulders and releases a deep sigh. It’s overwhelming when she considers the effects of his every action; one lingering breath that skates over her skin is enough to unravel her mind entirely. When he kisses her on the lips again, his hands are gripping tightly at her hips as though he’s afraid to let go. She isn’t a fan of bourbon but the taste of his mouth is so intoxicating that she finds she’ll make the exception.

It’s impulsive. And incredibly ill-timed. But that ‘ _when’_ is so gratifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **COMMENTS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED**
> 
> **Reminder to you all that this is rated 'teen and up' so there won't be any... _explicit_ moments but I like to think you guys will appreciate this enough.**
> 
> **Also, to shamelessly plug myself _again_ , go read _and_ comment on my other story 'Psychedelic Kicks' if you haven't yet! I've actually made a start on the final five chapters today and so it's all very exciting.**
> 
> **  
> _See ya when I see ya. Follow me on tumblr at the same username for any questions or just letters of affection, you know the usual._  
>  **


	6. VI

Morning breaks sooner than Caroline would have liked. The light streams through the crack of two audaciously thick, red curtains, casting over her face. How apt it is of a vampire to own such a thing, she thinks. True acceptance of the affliction. All the while, she’s still in possession of sheer, cream curtains that announce daylight in the most obvious of ways. She’s aware that trading them in for something unforgiving of light would make life easier; she wouldn’t have to wear her ring at all times or panic when without it. But something about that trade symbolises a departure from her human life and she isn’t willing to give up what anyone else might consider insignificant just yet. She’ll happily risk the brutal awakening of burning flesh if it means keeping those silly, cream curtains.

Now, the warmth is gentle but so stark in comparison to the chill running through the rest of her body. Her throat is plagued by the bad decision that was tequila and her head even more so. Her skirmish with Elena feels so far in the past that it only elicits a simple scoff. She considers if it’s wrong of her to feel nothing when faced with the prospect of seeing her best friend. Elena has made her bed and she’s content to lie in it. Why can’t she be the same? But even so, she would give anything to have the sun set once more, to postpone any critical thought or self-reflection, just to avoid the fact of the matter. She had sex with Klaus. It’s not a question. It’s not a fuzzy stream of moments in her mind. They had sex. And the moments are as  _ clear as day _ in her mind.

It was more than she had ever expected. Lonely nights that had been spent imagining how his body might meld against hers and how he might taste were an understatement. While they had begun with such frantic desire, their entanglement became anything but. Their press against the wall was soon intercepted by his need to see her lying on his couch. It was as he tugged away her dirtied jeans that he looked at her so delicately as though he would blink and she would evaporate. And then he pressed kiss after kiss along her stomach until his stubble was grazing her inner thigh. He commanded her attention every second of the way, whispering sweet compliments and affirmations. The alcohol hadn’t been enough to rid her of  _ every _ insecurity as she sat atop his lap but the way his gaze burned into her skin left her too dazed to care. She realises now that any imagination is now left in the dust by reality. Every little ministration and vocalisation just rolls through her the moment she opens her eyes.

They’re still on the couch. But, well,  _ couch _ feels too graceless to describe the piece of furniture he unfurled her every inhibition upon. It’s more in line with a chaise lounge, the crushed velvet and bevelled texture so refined. And it’s more comfortable than any other couch she’s slept on before. It might be the reason she stayed. She’ll rationalise it that way, at least. Truthfully, it was just too difficult to leave. She realised that trudging back to her house at three a.m. in bloodied clothing wouldn’t have been a good look to the Sheriff. That wasn’t the clincher, though. The clincher was the moment Klaus had kissed her temple like it was a daily occurrence, tugged down a blanket and proceeded to relax beside her. Knowing the Big Bad is capable of such affection twists in her stomach because it feels both uncharacteristic and everything she’s ever wanted. Not just from him. And so she allowed herself the simple indulgence of staying.

But now, his hand is draped over her stomach and she’s faced with that very same dilemma. She knows there’s no pride in sneaking out but it’s for the best, she decides. That is until she registers the light breath against the back of her neck and finds herself sinking back into him. It’s an unseen and unheard of state for the Hybrid. She can’t find any regret in that. So instead, she decides upon searching for a bathroom and a fresh pair of clothes. The ones in the guest room come to mind. Another shower wouldn’t hurt. If there’s anything worse than returning home at three a.m., it’s trying to cross town looking like she’s been mauled by a bear. If she  _ is _ to do the walk of shame, she wants to at least be presentable.

Caroline takes a quiet, self-encouraging breath, and closes her eyes as she slips away from his grasp. It’s relatively quick and painless but she pauses for a moment to gauge any stirring from behind her. She can still hear his breathing as even as ever so she braves the steps to her flimsy pieces of clothing. Collecting them off the persian rug, she realises how much of an oxymoron it is. Her torn-up shirt and jeans from Forever 21 (which, as a vampire, pisses her off to no end) are strewn across a Persian rug likely worth more than her house. The jeans come on first—she reasons that covering her chest with her hands won’t nearly be as lewd as her crotch—and she’s wriggling them on when she’s faced with the sight of Klaus, stretched over the couch with his eyes wide open.

“Klaus!” She jumps in place and her lashes flutter. She spins back around to scoop up her shirt before she can face him again. “Good morning,” she greets with a staggered clearing of her throat, t-shirt hanging from her fingers. It’s pathetic, really, as the thing is in tatters and stained with blood and soil. She seriously wonders if there’s some vampiric form of insurance because she can’t keep losing clothes to sharp objects through her stomach.

“Leaving so soon?”

Her lips part and she’s quick to throw her shirt over her head when he glances at her chest. The gaping hole in it is more obvious than ever. “I was just going to look for the bathroom.  _ Sorry _ I didn’t want to bump into any of your lurking siblings while naked.”

He looks anything but convinced as he sits upright. The blanket they’d shared is settled over his lap but dips as he leans back. “You don’t have to soothe my ego, Caroline. I understand.”

Her brows furrow and she crosses her arms. “Okay but you don’t  _ actually _ ,” she informs him with brittle notes and a pageant smile. The notion that she was sneaking out, especially after her decision  _ not _ to, is like nails on a chalkboard. She’s aware of her own tendencies but this time, the conclusion is unfounded.

“No, I think I do,” he replies in equal bite. His lip is upturned and his jaw tightens. “And you should go.”

That causes her to still and her lashes to flutter incredulously. “Excuse me?”

Klaus lets her question settle in the air, pressing his lips into a smile. He rises from the couch and boldly strides towards the bar at the head of the room. “We both know it’s best you leave before the brunt of your regret kicks in, love,” he muses with each action. He props a bottle of Bourbon onto the counter and rests his hand on the neck before engaging her once more. “We had fun. Let’s leave it at that.”

Caroline is standing so idly in the middle of the drawing room. She feels uncomfortable in her own skin for the first time in a long time. Like she’s seventeen again, clambering after a chance to be the  _ one _ . It abruptly sinks in that he’s blowing her off. But she’s not seventeen any longer. And she’s  _ angry _ . “Are you serious right now?” she spits back.

Klaus carefully pours his drink, lifts the glass and inspects it before theorising, “It’s what you want, isn’t it? A free pass?” He looks up at her and raises his eyebrows. It’s not friendly. Not  _ angry _ either. It’s nothing. He’s shutting her out.

Caroline studies him, searches for the flickering hint of emotion that he provides only to her. But this time, he’s refusing that privilege. She doesn’t need it, however, to see what’s going on. He’s throwing his toys out of the stroller because it’s what he does best. So she scoffs at the realisation, “You’re unbelievable,” and leaves it at that before rushing out of the mansion.

* * *

She has enough time at home to wash away their actions and dress herself appropriately for the day before Stefan calls her. He doesn’t even mention the incident with Elena. He plows on about Silas and Professor Shane. She would be insulted if she wasn’t so preoccupied with Klaus’ words. But she still takes her time with her makeup.

The extra minute spent perfecting her eyeliner proves to be wise as the first thing she sees in the Boarding House is the man who’d sent her on her way just hours earlier. His hands are clasped behind his back. And he looks smug. Because he knows she’s angry and knows that he’s the cause of it. But he’s also the cause of the cries drawn from her lips the night before. And he knows  _ that _ , too. She’s never wanted to fight and kiss someone so badly. She proceeds to pick up solo cups and bottles to distract herself, even swallows some  _ disgusting _ left over beer out of pettiness when he comments on its  _ sanitary _ properties.

It isn’t before long that they’re in the office of Professor Shane and she’s keeping her distance as though Klaus were infectious. Stefan couldn’t be more unaware of it. To him, this is a normal distance. To her, it’s neither close nor far enough. She practically clings to the bookcase and has her eyes trained on the various titles. But she’s listening to their conversation. And she doesn’t miss Klaus’ allusion to the allure of darkness and purest hearts and she honestly feels like she might throw a book at his head because his eyes are trailing her way as if he  _ hadn’t _ blown her off earlier.

And yet… She forgets all that herself when they’re plotting locations on a map of Mystic Falls. She’s quite proud of her ability to keep composed when she drags the marker across the page but it all comes crumbling when he takes the pen from her grasp. The pads of his fingers make no effort to avoid her skin, tracing along the delicate of her wrist. He takes his turn at plotting the second location and she doesn’t understand how he can recover so quickly as if they hadn’t even kissed the night before.

“Somebody's been skipping their geometry classes,” he practically brags as he sets the ruler in the opposing direction. She bites her lip at the smooth, honey-like drip of his voice, finding it hard to care about his words when his fingers are curling  _ familiarly _ around the pen. “There are actually two places where the third massacre could be.”

“Well, you didn’t let me finish,” the words linger as she glances between the map and his stare. He’s challenging her to break the boundary. After everything the day has done to strain their… She doesn’t know what to call it.  _ Situation _ . Well, after all of it, she still can’t help the way she gravitates towards him. The heat pools within her and it’s tempting to make the desk in between them disappear.

The door swings open before she can do that. And Stefan is looking at her like he’s  _ horrified _ by the situation he had most certainly  _ nearly _ caught them in. She tears herself away from the desk aggressively so—to the point that she can see the offence burst forth in Klaus’ eyes—and takes a lead on the conversation. She feels no guilt. If he can blow her off then she is just as capable of doing the same to him. Even if it’s not what she really wants.

The allure of darkness. It’s a topic that crops back up when they’re trekking through the forest. He gloats that it was in reference to Damon and Elena but it must have struck a chord with her. Her attraction is only secondary to her stubbornness because she finds herself denying the concept until she says words that she isn’t sure she can take back.

“It turns out some people can't be fixed. People who do terrible things are just terrible people.”

It cuts deep. Deeper than expected. His eyes pierce hers and she can see how hard she’s trying to remain unfazed. But he’s hurt. And she knows that  _ hurt _ seldom ends well with him. With  _ them _ .

It’s in the silence, she glances aside. She questions, “Why’d you tell me to leave?” and looks at him again. She decides upon changing the subject, decides that now is the perfect moment to bring up her departure that morning. He’s always so eager to delve into her mind that maybe she wants a hand at his for once.

He smirks, shaking that infuriatingly perfect head of his. “I think you know why.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Can you really tell me you’re willing to forgo all of your friends for me, Caroline? Accept the shame that comes with it?” Klaus enunciates every single word as if he’s reciting a carefully planned monologue. He even begins to pace away, lazily rolling his neck. “No, you can’t. Just like you can’t look past all the horrible things I’ve done.”

She knows she should leave it there. Let the whole thing die, accept the entanglement as some passing fling. Because he  _ is _ offering her a free pass. But  _ she _ is feeling stubborn. More than ever. And she doesn’t want to decipher why. She just knows she wants to argue and so she does, “No, you know what? You don’t get to do that!”

Klaus looks back at her, a brief expression of surprise on his face, but takes no more than a second to relax. He smiles and asks coolly, “Don’t I?”

“No!” she exclaims and swings her arms out in distress.“You don’t get to tell me what I want or don’t want!” His whole delivery leaves her in outrage. She’s jealous, really, that he manages to mask his emotions, regardless of whether  _ she _ manages to spot them or not. She couldn’t if she tried, wonders if that comes with age and worries that it will. Because that heart on her sleeve is one of the most human things about her.

Klaus has no trouble narrowing the gap until his chest is an inch from grazing hers. His eyes are hard but there’s something expectant and hopeful in them. “Alright, Caroline. Why don’t  _ you _ tell me?” he poses the question like it’s the easiest one in the world, like he’s not demanding she lay everything out on that forest floor in the midst of an arguably greater crisis. And she knows just as well that she’s the one who incited such a question. She’s just not quite sure this is the bed she wants to lie in. Not yet. And that is what is reading so clearly on Klaus’ face when he sighs and looks around. “We're here, although judging by the lack of witches, here is not the correct location.”

Her chest settles in relief when he’s not looking and she presses her lips tightly when he is once more. She knows what she wants. Lately, that’s the only thing on her mind. But she isn’t ready to say it out loud. Against all odds, ‘when’ is still a relevant topic in her eyes just as much as it is in his. She only wishes it could come sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **COMMENTS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED**
> 
> **Hi, I'm back for this one update! And I'm going again...unfortunately. (I know it didn't end on such a...romantic note but hey, I've gotta keep with that dastardly canon)**
> 
> **I just finished my longest and (arguably) most important WIP, Psychedelic Kicks last weekend and I am so so tired. I'm thankful that people enjoy this story and I do promise I will finish it but I need time to just unplug and focus on my mental health. I'll be gone for about a month maybe longer but we'll see.**
> 
> **If you're on the KC discord, I'm hosting a Q &A stream for PK on Saturday at 5pm UTC!**


	7. VII

There are many times in Caroline’s life that felt like rock bottom. Like a pit had swallowed her whole and blocked out all reassuring light. Feeling second to Elena, being treated as a rag doll by Damon, and her father’s death. All moments in which she felt like she was at the end of her rope, staring at the abyss with no way back. And it would be heedless not to mention her transition from human to vampire. An unfound terror of who she was becoming. This feels like another one of those moments.

She made a decision, one quick and of  _ selfish _ unselfish reasoning. It reverberates through her, the image of flames puffing out atop their posts and darkness engulfing the area. Dull thuds on the ground, one after the other. Limp hands and empty eyes. Silver linings aren’t applicable. The  _ one _ ,  _ single _ silver lining is one she can’t even bear to think of right now. Because it’s dripping with the blood of twelve innocent witches. Twelve innocent  _ lives _ . And what’s twelve lives when weighed up against one so intertwined with her own? Bonnie may still be breathing but it cost the breaths of a dozen in exchange.

She sits for the most part as Klaus shovels through the remaining night. There’s a murmur in her, a thought, something she desperately wishes to suppress. Klaus Mikaelson is cleaning up after her mess without request nor suggestion. They’ve been on a downwards spiral since crossing the line and yet, he continues to stir feelings beyond the surface level. That doesn’t flutter in her as it should. It festers. Pools. There’s a nauseous rise in her stomach as she watches him, a face of stone so focused on the task at hand. She wonders what it _ will _ take for him to decide she isn’t worth it. Does the blood on her hands only endear him to her further? It’s not a title she wants.

It’s with one last toss of dirt that he declares the completion of  _ twelve graves for twelve witches _ . The reminder sets her off, opens the gates to every thought that has passed through her in the last few hours. She argues, emphasises the importance of Bonnie in her life. But of course, it does nothing to sway him into the reason for her actions. And why would it? He has no interest in the well-being of anyone but his own. There’s a spiteful dedication to his words and though she protests, his blunt insight finds the weight settling on her chest in a matter of moments.

“I just killed twelve witches,” escapes her trembling lips and her eyes become unfocused. It’s a struggle to actualise the consequences at hand. Silas is one step closer to his goal and she helped him there.

Klaus' expression looks to be taken back and his eyes soften as he rests his hands upon her arms. The simple touch is something she might hyper-analyse in a state of less distress. His words are hush and concerned, “Hey. Hey. You look like you're in need of comfort.” She can only offer a rigid nod. She feels that if she does any more, she’ll come completely undone. But that concern of his curdles and his soft eyes sharpen expertly. “Why don't you find someone less terrible you can relate to?”

The delivery is cutting and proud, slicing through her, and Caroline feels a new anger spark within. She could argue, could scream, could beat at his chest in protest but she knows that it’s no use. She would only be protesting what she knows deep down, what she has tried to protest since her moment of transition. She is a vampire. She is a murderer. She is no different than him. And it’s for that reason she rushes away in a gust of wind.

* * *

Caroline spends the much needed time catching up on lost sleep when she arrives home. She bundles up in sheets and pillows, her clothes very much still on, and succumbs to sleep in place of existential dread. Considering Katherine smothered her with one, pillows have been and always will be her only comfort. It’s a shallow and feudal concept, she knows, but the idea of having  _ her person _ and equally being someone else’s is nothing short of an obsession. And despite her growth since transition, it still sits in the back of her mind. Sure, Bonnie, Elena, and Stefan (and once upon a time, Tyler) are fixtures in her life, confidants. But there is only so much of herself she can be around them while her pillow continues to be the only thing she can cling to without judgement.

There’s a moment, her eyes shut tight, when she considers Klaus. He needles her and recognises the deepest and darkest facets of her being. But then she unravels every infuriating second of their interaction that morning and begs it away. She has no interest in picking apart her actions nor Klaus’ words. It’s when she’s in the shower that she finds herself constructing arguments between herself and a phantom Klaus. That saying of broken clocks being right twice a day comes to mind. And whoever said it first has earned a place on her  _ list _ . Right now, she would be happy never to lay eyes on him or his dimpled expressions again. So when he texts her an obsessive amount with cries for help—well, Klaus Mikaelson doesn’t exactly cry, more so demand—, she contemplates letting him rot. But, as ever, he’s persistent. And the final message is one she can’t bring herself to ignore.

_ Please, Caroline. _

It’s already a bloody scene when she arrives and the drawing room is eerily silent. But it’s the least of her surprise when, after a  _ bajillion _ messages, Klaus greets her with a struggling demand to  _ go away _ . She finds him draped over the stool of his neglected grand piano, cold sweat glistening his skin. There’s an inexplicable part of her that aches seeing even him so helpless, seeing all pride dwindling into a vulnerable little boy. But a larger,  _ louder _ piece of her conscience is enough to remind her otherwise. It's when they’re past the typical exposition and threats that she agrees to help him remove a piece of white oak from his back. But as Klaus does and always will do, he responds to her attempts at help with childish petulance and any anger that had settled from the morning is now reignited. They soon descend into a battle of wills until they’re screaming at each other.

When she attempts to break away, he’s there in front of her, a roar erupting from the depths of his person, “Don’t turn your back on me!”

Neither of them are willing to back down as she responds in kind, practically foaming at the mouth, her whole body jerking. “I should have turned my back on you AGES ago!”

That last confession sees the air still and any tension dissipate with a new fear in its place. The last few hours have been spent searching in vain for an injury that, in the end, is self-inflicted. _Silas got in my head_ is what Klaus concludes grimly. And the implications that it draws further are horrifying. Because there’s a point at which the supernatural goings on and the constant impending threat of death become background noise. So the realisation that Silas is a threat at this level, of infesting their minds with hallucinations and dangerous beliefs, is one that pulls a cold shiver from her. But the storm has subsided. For now.

They clean up. She tries not to linger in the bathroom or let any feelings overcome her when she considers how much of her fault their predicament is. She meets him in the drawing room just to say goodbye. Klaus thanks her, his hand catching her by the wrist. He lets go when she faces him but her thoughts are overwhelmed with the need to feel it just a second longer. It’s why she can’t help but fall into their comfortable back and forth after everything.

But it’s when he calls out, “Friends, then?” and she twirls to reveal his eyes alight and dimples on show, her mind truly reels. She has caught herself wishing so many things when it comes to Klaus. The most shallow of those wishes is the ordinary. For them to be just a boy who likes a girl and a girl who likes a boy. Sometimes, she wishes they were just two high schoolers in different crowds finding themselves attracted to the other regardless of the status quo. Movies have taught her that those stories are destined for happy endings. No supernatural strings attached. But they aren’t humans and supernatural strings are  _ ingrained _ in their lives.

“Are you gonna let Tyler come back into town?” That relaxed, hopeful, expression of his falters and his jaw becomes set. She sighs, glances aside and confesses, “I can’t move on if I can’t even tell him...”

She purposely lets it hang. Because there is, ultimately, a lot to tell Tyler. That she knows about him and Hayley, that she’s done with him...and that she’s finding herself more and more entangled with what he and everyone else believes is the root of all of their issues. Klaus looks at a loss for words and she knows that despite the last few hours, their brutal push and pull, he will never concede so easily. She presses her lips together, doesn’t care to look his way as she nods, and begins to depart.

“You might have noticed…” his voice stops her dead in her tracks. She turns her head just enough to signal her attention. “I'm not exactly scouring the earth for him, am I?”

It’s in his implication that she twists to face him finally. He seems pleased with himself, yet the mask can only hide so much of the reluctance to concede.  _ It was all for you, Caroline _ . At the time, she refused to entertain his attempt to appear as some knight in shining armour. And since then, it’s even more clear that he’s anything but. But what’s also clear is that he wasn’t lying. He may not be a knight and he’s not trying to be. But he’s willing, after everything, to forgo such pettiness that he, as the Hybrid, rarely forgoes and adversely, clings to. For her. For  _ friendship _ . She smiles. It’s faint but he shares it equally. That common ground between them is often so hard to find yet when they do find it, she urges to savour every last moment. Her lips settle in a thin line and the space between his brows creases slightly.

“Are you sober?” she asks, abrupt and intent. She knows that any chance to  _ really _ consider her actions will be filled with doubt and it’s the last thing she wants. Because what she wants, in this moment, is him.

For the first time, he looks blankly. He shifts in place, his eyes narrowing, and replies, “Pardon?”

Caroline lets her eyes fall shut for a moment. He can’t be so obtuse, can he? A part of her wants to huff and spell it out for him. But she’s playing a dangerous game. One she wants full control of. She breathes in gently through her nose and steps forward. They’re barely a foot apart when she views him once again. “Are you sober?” she repeats.

He seems to recognise the intention finally, eyes flaring in a surprise that would be missed if her own weren’t so fixed on them. His lashes lower and he takes his time surveying her body. When he finally meets her expression, his upper lip twitches in amusement. He rocks closer, loosely, and says, “Well if I wasn’t, the pliers you dug into my flesh certainly helped me there.”

“Okay, perfect,” she whispers, not wasting another breath before she crashes her lips into his. He practically stumbles back at the force she opens with. But Klaus is quick in his reflexes as his hands grasp firmly at her waist.

“I would ask you the same,” he manages out between kisses and holds her back long enough to make a final, cocksure statement, “but I think I know the answer.”

“Shut up,” she breathes and his lips curl upwards before he takes hers once more. They’re clumsy but they find each other time and time again until it’s instinct. His fingers curve over the shape of her cheeks and rest in a balance between protective and possessive.

It’s less rushed than the first. They take their time and every extra second feels worthy of recognition. There seems to be an unspoken agreement of a wish to memorise the other, to catalogue and categorise every sensation had. He eventually leads her out of the drawing room and up the stairs. They go carefully with each step but their lips never part for more than a tenth of a second. Their clothes create a path to their entanglement and he utters devastating compliments when the last of it is peeled away before hoisting her up against the wall. By the time they reach his bedroom, a place she has considered an  _ unhealthy _ amount, her only focus is him. His kisses trail every inch of her neck, teeth grazing the most vulnerable places. He presses her into the plush mattress and raises her arms above her head. His fingers interlock with hers, the small intimacy running through her like an electrical current. Hours are consumed by learning each other until they’re both spent, a tangle of limbs and fulfilled desires. She can’t say why but she’s never felt so...seen.

* * *

The lighting of his room is a dim, natural one by the time she awakes. He’s sitting upright when her eyes pry open and she finds the remnants of his wound between his shoulder blades are healing away. She mutters, “How much did it hurt?” and feels delighted by the subtle hitch in his body that she detects.

Klaus shifts, twists his body to face her, and leans down. He presses a tender kiss at the junction of her shoulder and collarbone. It’s the sort not laced with any sexual prospects and her lashes flutter because it’s  _ freaking terrifying _ . He then lifts an inch to present her with a smirk. He’s hush when he replies, “I’ve felt worse for much longer. You don’t need to be worried.”

Her lashes lower and her lips part. She manages to sit up without offering any eye contact. With shoulders locked inwards, she protests, “I wasn’t.”

There’s a flicker of brittle resignation on his face but his body remains tense when he turns away. It’s in moments like this that she can see the true depths of his life before her. Fragments of humanity, a need to love and  _ be _ loved. But she’s scared.  _ Still _ so  _ scared _ . Because she  _ still _ isn’t sure what it is he makes her feel and what that means for her or the future.

Caroline resolves to change the subject. She nods towards the wall opposing the bed where a large painting is hung. It’s a ballroom scene and she’s no historian but she recalls a similar one in a movie adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. “Did you paint that?”

He finally relaxes and his voice lifts, “No, I didn’t.”

She narrows her eyes. “Your work is all over the house but not your bedroom?”

She can make out Klaus’ grin even from behind and just knows that his dimples are sinking into his cheeks. “I suppose I had to alleviate my narcissism in some places.”

“Who painted it?”

His mouth twitches with contentment and he lets his head loll in her direction. “Perhaps you should inspect it,” he says, low and teasing.

Though her body screams at her not to look away, Caroline gives into the challenge, her own mouth twitching, and pulls herself off the bed. She brings the sheets with her, wrapping them around her body before she shuffles around the outskirts of the room. When she finds not a single mark on the edge of the painting, she twists back with wide eyes. “There’s no signature.”

“No,” he calls in return, resting back on his palms, which dig into the mattress. “The artist had yet to finish it.”

She scrunches her nose up and turns to the painting. Every inch of the canvas is covered and the subjects are unquestionably detailed. “It looks pretty finished to me,” she replies stubbornly.

Her heart skips a beat when he’s pressed flush against her back in one swift movement. His lips graze the shell of her ear as he comments, “My, Caroline, I was under the impression that you looked beyond the surface.”

Though he’s distracting (incredibly so), she heaves a determined breath and trains her eyes on the painting once more. Her eyes trace every little texture of it, every shape of the scene displayed until they land on a splotch of red hiding in the fabric of the subject’s dress. “Here. They didn’t finish blending the paint,” she thinks aloud, pressing her index to the afflicted area. It’s sudden but she finds another thought escaping, “Blood?”

Klaus stands shoulder to shoulder with her, breathes out into a gentle smile. “As vampires, we leave a lot of bodies in our wake. Sometimes, those bodies belong to great minds, kindred spirits…” his words trail off into a thoughtful silence as he joins her in viewing the piece.

“Carter.” He looks at her in bewilderment and a shudder races down her spine. She keeps her eyes trained on the textures of the painting, hopes the memories will be recounted plainly. He’s the Big Bad Hybrid, a murderer of more than just the artist displayed before them, but the idea of revealing  _ her _ darkest moments curdles within her throat. “When Katherine turned me, I fed on him. Killed him. He had a life, a family, probably wanted to get out of this town just as much as anyone.” She casts a sharp, pained look his way. “I took that from him.”

Klaus’ eyes soften generously and he turns towards her as she says, “You cannot dwell on choices made in hunger, Caroline.”

As strange as it is, his comfort means less to her than the lack thereof given amongst the trees. She mirrors his body, lifts her chin, and inquires, “What about your choices?” It isn’t angry, or sad, or laced with any particular emotion for that matter. He begins to part his lips but she’s too sure of her thoughts to let him speak. “Or mine last night?” Those are the words that elicit a crackle in her voice. She doesn’t need to speak the obvious. He may be willing to make peace with the blood on his hands but she isn’t sure she will ever be with what’s on hers. It’s for that reason precisely that she declares, “I should go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **COMMENTS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED**
> 
> **So...**
> 
> **Five chapters to go until the end.**


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